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| Did I mention he turned two last week? |
Papi, Benji and I have spent the last three months completely preoccupied with real estate. I haven't blogged much about it because 1.) it's not that interesting and 2.) talking about it jinxes the deal. Even today, when we made an acceptable offer on a house we love, and our own house is scheduled to be sold in 10 days, we feel like we're building a house of cards.
I've moved. A lot. My parents were very young when I was born and I accompanied them on a journey through college, careers and relocation. I got a sense that moving was fun and exciting and that change was a good thing. But having a child of my own and being so intrinsically itinerant I feel a need to change yet again, to try something different. I want to settle. Down. In our town.
I've had damp fantasies about moving back west, closer to family and a different pace that is in my blood. Despite serious efforts, it hasn't happened yet. My plan has been slightly fatalistic: either I get a job offer in San Francisco or we find a house here that we love and meets our criteria.
It seems the house has won.
I'm not sure if you can trust fate, but you can definitely trust your instincts. Mine was to finally make a commitment to that last crabgrass frontier: I've already committed to my husband and my son, it is time to commit to my home. We need to put down roots somewhere, anywhere, and it seems that here is as good or better than any of our other options.
Juan forbids me from revealing details - but changes are coming. I can't wait to stop waiting and make the commitment.
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